The Secret Life of Sherlock Holmes
by Daniella L'orange
Summary: Holmes wants to spent a night alone in thought, but fate has other plans for our favorite detective. A great deal revealed about him and about someone else. Chapter 2 up.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

The Secret Life of Sherlock Holmes

It was a quiet night on Baker Street, and Holmes had every intention of spending it with his pipe, his music and perhaps a dose of his favorite poison. The brilliant detective was growing increasingly tired of Watson's lectures on his dangerous lifestyle, not least of all his dependence on cocaine to ward off the loneliness and depression that overcame him from time to time. Holmes had very nearly convinced himself that he was not addicted; a man such as himself could not be addicted. He was beyond such base desires, and merely used the cocaine for recreational and restorative reasons. Then, just as quickly as he had become secure in this assessment the magnificent logic he was capable of would pierce this façade and Holmes was forced to face the ugly truth of his desperate need for his medicinal escape.

Then his practical mind would fall under the grip of another base need, his maddening fondness for … _the woman_. Ever since their brief encounter during one Holmes' more infamous cases involving a certain Bohemian nobleman she had wholly possessed the once cold and composed detective. He had at one time believed himself beyond the pull of beautiful women, and he had been wholeheartedly mistaken. His memories drifted away lost in crystal clear images of her golden hair, her upturned nose and those blazing eyes which had so easily stolen his heart. He held himself to a different standard than most of her adoring fans. He wanted her for her lovely face and figure; it was true, but his desire – he refused to call it love- stemmed from so much more than mere physical attraction. She was the only woman (very nearly the only the person) to ever outwit him, and he had to be impressed by such deceptive brilliance. She was a master of disguise, and it had to be difficult to hide a beauty like hers. Part of him, the analytical part, wished she was an empty, but gorgeous shell. Then, and only then, he might be able to rid himself of her completely. He knew that he needed to purge himself of her in some way, but telling, someone, anyone, was unthinkable- reprehensible to Holmes. The fact that he was capable of this foolishness was infuriating, but the images he conjured up when he imagined Watson's glee were enough to push him over the edge.

He hated this. Hated his weak desires. Hated her, but most of all he hated himself. He should have known better than to fall for such a woman. One who was blatantly out of his reach. A woman who would never look his way except to view him as an amusing unfathomable creature. Most who knew him and some who didn't viewed him as a ridiculously, brilliant, talented and patient man, but the fact of the matter was he was the furthest a human being could be from patient. When, as a school boy, he had not mastered the violin in a few days he very nearly smashed the instrument to bits. He had only been stopped by Watson's supremely timely entrance. Since that day Watson had been his dearest friend, and only confidante, but this information was something he could not share his new weakness with anyone, not even John. This realization made Holmes feel even more isolated than he normally felt. Although his many accomplishments typically filled him with a sense of pride, he was suddenly bereft of this security as the emptiness of an accomplished life led alone dawned on him.

Resigning himself to his fate, Holmes wrapped his long, elegant fingers around his violin, lifted it up and began to play. His hands seemed to move of their own accord, drawing out a mournfully beautiful tune. Closing his eyes, he let himself slip into a world of pure expression. Every painful, angry or desperate thought was poured out into a song both sublimely human and simultaneously unearthly. However musical escape was effective for only so long. A mind so wildly acute and active could be distracted for only a short time before painful thoughts began to sink in. Holmes tossed the violin onto his armchair and crossed the room in two powerful strides. Grasping the handle of the old mahogany dresser and whipping it open, he dove in searching desperately for his syringe. Finally his frantic fingers latched onto the object of his desire. Pulling the needle out he began to prepare it. Becoming more frustrated with every passing second, he was readying his needle at lightning speed.

Then he was jarred back to reality by harsh, relentless knocking at his front door. 'Damn him. Damn Watson. He had to come now. When Holmes most wanted to be alone. Then it occurred to him, that knocking was atypical of John who knock usually could have passed for a metronomic rhythm. Finally Holmes crossed the room and flung the door open. "Wha-" his words were cut off by the beggar who stood before him. Although he was sure he had never this middle aged woman before he recognized something frighteningly familiar about those eyes, those blazing sapphire eyes. " Holmes" then the reality of the moment struck him with a force that nearly destroyed him.

"Come in Irene".

Be nice that's my first work with Sherlock Holmes. I hope you enjoyed it.


	2. The Secret Life of Irene Adler

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything.

The Secret Life of Irene Adler

There she stood, the cold night air rushing around her. If it wasn't for her shimmering eyes and familiar voice he never would have known her. Clinging to her frame was a once fine dress that now hung in tatters. She was thinner than he remembered and her high cheekbone was covered with a prominent bruise. Her face was shadowed by a world of anger and fright. As he did with most people, Holmes read her like a book. He never trusted that ogre of a man she had married. She let herself get swept off her feet by his opulent lifestyle and extravagant gifts. Holmes had believed her beyond such materialistic thoughts, but, as he so often was when it came to Irene Adler, he had been wrong.

Holmes had been informed of her 'death', but he had never believed the reports for a moment. All the ends had been too neatly tied up; the evidence of her 'suicide' was perfect. Although the investigators informed him that his services were not necessary, he had visited the crime scene, and had immediately decided it was a forgery. The men of Scotland Yard had called it an open and shut case; however Sherlock Holmes knew that open and shut cases were rarely what they appeared to be.

Now he had confirmation for his hypothesis, or so he thought. She staggered inside and took a seat in the chair not occupied by his violin. He quickly assessed her looking her over for a reason for her sudden appearance. He had not expected her to remain with her husband, but why had she run to him. Surely she had plenty of friends who would gladly have taken her in, and he certainly had no desire to … well that wasn't true.

"Miss Adler, pray tell me why you are here" his words came out more gruffly than he had intended. She looked up at him a certain helplessness washing over her battered face. She wanted to tell him everything, wanted to reveal the terror that had been bottled up inside her for three years, wanted to feel safe again in the knowledge that Holmes would not let any harm come to her, but his stoic features from his firmly set jaw to his piercing gray eyes, told her without question that he was not ready to hear what she had to say.

She let out a haggard sigh, unsure of where to begin "So I suppose the news never reached you since you seem so unaffected by my arrival".

"On the contrary, Miss Adler, I investigated your untimely death personally, and I must say you fake a suicide magnificently"

"I did not set that scene up! He did!" Holmes was momentarily thrown off by her outburst. Never in the brief time they had known each other had she lost her coy and calculating aura. The wild desperation burning in her eyes was making him distinctly uncomfortable, and she knew it.

"Please, calm down, Miss Adler. Hysterics will accomplish nothing."

"I am not at all hysterical Holmes, and damn it, call me Irene. That is my name after all, and don't even think about calling me by his name.

"I wouldn't dream of it, but you have yet to explain why you are here, in my home, in the middle of the night, or why, as you contend, your once adoring husband would want to fake your suicide."

"I am here because you are the only person I know who would possibly believe this fantastical story, and because I have no where else safe to go. None of my former friends will want to harbor a fugitive who they have believed for several months now to be dead. And as to the matter of my husband's deception," the way she spat out the 'husband' struck a chord of sympathy with Holmes "he no longer allowed to perform, or, for that matter, to do anything in which he could not completely control me. So I tried to leave. I didn't want anything as scandalous as a divorce, or even any of his money. All I desired was my freedom, but he refused to let me go. He insisted that as my husband he had every right to control me, but that was a lifestyle I could not bear, so one night a friend helped me escape, and he smuggled me to Germany. However, Edward haunted my steps everywhere I went, and faked my suicide so that I could not ask anyone we knew for help. I spent several months on stage in Germany, yet even there he found me. He gave me an ultimatum, either we could leave and start a new life together, or he would see me dead before the end of the year."

Holmes let out a sigh as he allowed the information to process in his acute mind. Irene was nearly out of breath from detailing her ordeal. Even to Holmes, who had seen and heard everything at least once, this was beyond believability.

"Well I suppose, since you married him for his money, he can't be paid off" Holmes muttered, now somewhat resentful of being nothing more than an escape for her.

"No, he doesn't want money; he wants me."

Then a light bulb went off in Holmes' brilliant mind. How had Irene come into his life in the first place, her possession of a certain gentleman's compromising article

"Irene do you know anything particularly unpleasant about Edward that might be used to quiet his threats?"

Okay so there's chapter two. Hope you like it. Please read and review!! I'm desperate for feedback! Many thanks to my first reviewer, Aragonite.


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